


Voices And Other Sounds, He Can Hear John Now

by Pink_and_Velvet



Series: Hold Tight, Onto Daddy’s Bracelets [2]
Category: Duran Duran, Duran Duran (Music Videos)
Genre: A/B/O verse, Alternate Universe, Androgyny, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Backstage, Character Development, Character Study, Developing Relationship, M/M, Mirrors, New Romantics, Nigel to John, Reflection, identity crisis, men in makeup, men kissing, music video, shoots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27991929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Velvet/pseuds/Pink_and_Velvet
Summary: Running his shielded gaze over his wobbly reflection, the red in his hair and red painting his lips, he has one simple question.Whois staring back at him?The person he chooses to be now is the one that goes down in musical history. He can’t mess this up.
Relationships: Simon Le Bon/John Taylor (Duran Duran)
Series: Hold Tight, Onto Daddy’s Bracelets [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1573288
Kudos: 10





	Voices And Other Sounds, He Can Hear John Now

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been waiting months to share this! Here is the real end to my Some New Romantic Elvis story, which was written right at the start. Somehow I knew immediately that this was the real end to that fic. _Planet Earth is blue and there’s nothing I can do... ___  
>  _  
>  _I hope you love the last of the Nigel content. The world is making plans for him!_  
> _

_March, 1981_

Hunching over, shoulders quaking, he tipped his head and startled at what he saw. Or, what he couldn’t see.

The image was blurry, distorted, yet he didn’t have his crude eyesight to blame. He couldn’t understand what he saw; put two and two together to decipher what was stood before him. Or _whom_.

“Your name is…”

Fingers quivering, he ran a shaky hand through his hair; pushing up the gel in it, losing his grip on the teased ends. It was blaring red, far from the murky black he would hide behind. The colour red connoted danger, a spotlight stealer, a heart breaker and a hopeless romantic. Or, too many mixed signals.

“Your name, ahem, is…”

He dropped it, ruby stain painting the cream dresser as opposed to his bottom lip. Cursing, he dropped to his bony knees to try and retrieve it. It wasn’t exactly a new entity nor a new demon just… something special. Or, the token to creating his flouncy look.

“Your… your name… is…”

Running a calloused finger over his eyes, he smeared the black that coated them. He fumbled over his lashes, having poked his already good for nothing irises and painting the tops of his cheeks with the fallout. He dusted them rouge, sweating, before wiping it all away. He dusted them again, frustrated, in circular motions this time. To define his cheeks. Or, to flash his not so secretive feminine side.

“Your name… name…”

He shucked on his jacket. Grimacing, he noted the small blob of red from his lips that now painted the lapels. Then he smiled, only small, running a string beaten finger down over the silken lapels. He had never worn something so grand, so elaborate yet so _him_. But who? Which him?

The fabric was delicate with an edge, the black was screaming that edge. Heightened by the red in his hair. Softened by the red in his angular face, the red in his pout. 

Engulfing a deep and shaky breath, he swung his gaze to one side and bit into his bottom lip. Gnawing at it, he bought two jittering hands back up to his face, to his glasses. The frames were his security, his shield. They were everything he had ever known, from Primary School straight through his very few days at the Polytechnic. The thick rimmed frames widened his gaze, nerding him out.

They had to go.

He fumbled over the contacts, puzzling on what to do with them. They were uncomfortable, a struggle, he winced and hissed as he slid one in. With a small squeak, the second was fixed into place. He immediately clutched at his head, doubling over, shaking it. Slamming his fists on the dresser, he forced his gaze back up. Forcing his way onto the glass, looking back at him. No longer laughing at the stork that barely fit the frame.

“Your name… is.”

He exhaled a final breath, sucking in his cheeks and forming a fully facial contorting pout. Full of seduction, tinted lips radiating a sudden intimidation. A sudden feel, a crave to act in such a way.

Swallowing deep, ruffling his ruby locks a final time, he clutched at his lapels and tossed his head back. He didn’t look down to his glasses, they were gone, history. He kept his heavily lined gaze forward, assertive and piercing, running all over his jacketed frame.

“Your name… your name…”

He almost missed the knock at the door, unable to rip his gaze off of the shivering figure before himself. Eyes glued to his own reflection as it was interrupted, comforted, blanketed by another soul: his lips pursed but he couldn’t speak a word.

“Are you ready? They’re waiting for you.” The voice was soft, a smooth hand coming to rest on his leather clad hip. “We just met the director, some Aussie surfer dude who did _Ultravox’s_ ‘Vienna.’ It’s a pretty sound story board too, this Mulchay’s got it all figured out.”

He was handed a striped ruby scarf, together they threaded it through his belt loops.

“He’s tipped to be the next big thing, so are we. The single’s already hit the top ten in Australia. _Top Of The Pops_ is calling.”

Together they looked up, eyes falling back to their own reflection in the bright mirror. That hand had come to rest on his right hip again, the grip anything but rough on the bone jutting out. He found himself leaning into it, the support, only able to stand on his wobbling legs because of that hand. Because that hand was keeping him upright.

He was dressed in a white shirt with flowing sleeves, baggy trousers and a ruby red sash. Plus a questionable accessory, resembling a noose. Praying the man wouldn’t trip and fall, hurting himself; he fell in line as those pretty lips dropped open.

The buttery blonde hair was no more, the darker chestnut really worked wonders for him. There was a newfound maturity in that side part; the light eye makeup readily did bring out the already striking baby blues even more. Miraculously, he resembled Elvis even more so than before. A real rockstar, one to worship.

He let out the breath he hadn’t known to be holding.

“We have to go. We have a music video to shoot.” The voice was breathy, tickling his ear. He groaned into it, pressing himself into the body behind. “The first of _many_ , I’m sure.”

The body didn’t retreat without a kiss. Their lips moulded together perfectly, heat spreading between them; hands in each other’s hair, torsos flush. Before pulling away so he could learn to breathe again, so he could lean in, pressing their foreheads together. A chance to catch the daze in those sapphire eyes, their flame, the secrets they would no longer hide.

“You know where I’ll be.” They retreated, turning around. Leaving him anything but cold.

Gaze fleeing to their reflection, he couldn’t help but let a small smile slip as he watched the figure go; swaying with a two-step, singing softly to himself.

“My head is stuck on somethin’ precious, let me know. If you’re coming down to land. Is there...”

He couldn’t help but perk up.

“Anybody out there, trying to get through?”

His eyes were no longer so cloudy because he _could_ see… Simon.

He’d look now, looking all around. For signs of Simon’s life.

He didn’t need any other voices and other sounds.

He can hear Simon now.

“You’re, looking at _Planet Earth_.” The vocal faded to nothing, though his luv left the dressing room door open.

He had been right about it having song title potential, nearing a year ago. His lips quirked up at the thought.

Turning back around, hands slipping from their grip on the dressing table: he righted himself, straightening up. Breathing in the confidence, letting it pulse through every vein in his body. Every valve and artery.

“Your name is…”

He inhaled a final time, finally those four sacred words dropped from his lipstick cherry stained lips. He stared directly into the lens, daring to make himself heard.

“Your name is _John_.”

He’s fallen, fallen hard.


End file.
